


Breakfast Regrets

by LananiA3O



Category: Batman (Comics)
Genre: Family Bonding, Fluff, Gen, Good Batdad™, Swearing, batfam, friendly sibling rivalry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-16
Updated: 2019-05-16
Packaged: 2020-03-06 13:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18851785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LananiA3O/pseuds/LananiA3O
Summary: Bruce is on vacation with his kids and everything is going well until Stephanie comes down with a minor case of food poisoning. Then the others start acting strangely during breakfast. Little does Bruce know that he is in for a headache...





	Breakfast Regrets

**Author's Note:**

> Written to fill a prompt about the batkids bonding over a friendly competition. Also a sequel to Airport Regrets. Yes I can write fluff. I am as surprised as you guys probably are.
> 
> Enjoy!

_This was a terrible mistake._

Bruce surveyed the scene in front of him with quiet, ever-growing discomfort and a disturbing sense of déjà vu. It took his brain a moment to recall when he had last felt this way, but once the shoe dropped, it knocked the wind out of him and made the blood drain from his face.

The airport. This was exactly like the airport. God help him.

On the surface, everything looked fine. They had somehow managed to survive the flight, all in one piece, despite the turbulence and his children’s antics. They had arrived safely at the hotel. They had gone surfing and whale-watching and had had a lovely dinner at a local restaurant.

That is, until Stephanie had gotten sick just before midnight. Violently, puking her guts out and writhing with cramps sick. Considering that she had been the only one going for the seafood bowl at the restaurant and everyone else was fine, food poisoning was the most likely cause. The hotel’s physician had come to the same conclusion and had ordered her to remain in bed for the next day, drink as much water as she could and stick to a diet of bananas and crackers, which was why she was not here for breakfast now. It made his job only ever-so-slightly easier.

And it wasn’t enough.

Herding children, Bruce had come to realize over the last 36 hours, was akin to herding cats. It was an exercise in futility and emotional whiplash, with truly heart-warming moments of bliss being followed almost immediately by utter chaos and destruction, seemingly out of nowhere and without the slightest announcement. How Alfred managed to do it every single day was beyond Bruce.

He was starting to nurture the dreadful suspicion that this was precisely why Alfred had insisted he go on this vacation with the entire family.

 _Perhaps the children could use some time with their father outside of costume_ , Alfred had said. _It will be a great opportunity for everyone to socialize_ , Alfred had said.

_Traitor._

Something was rotten in the hotel of Shining Beach. Bruce was sure of it. He could tell by the way the kids—technically mostly too old for that word, but they would always be children to him—stole glances at each other now and then, exchanging nods and winks and little nudges that told him something was going on that he was not privy to. Most unsettling, though, Jason was nowhere to be found.

Bruce prayed he wasn’t preparing to pull another stunt like that gun at the security check at Gotham International.

“You look worried, Bruce.” Barbara spoke with the eternal calm of an ancient crone who had lived for millennia, but there was just a tiny little hint of amusement in her voice. She opened another pack of sugar and stirred it into her tea. “Something the matter?”

Bruce paused and took a sip of his coffee. Any plans to water the liquid down with milk and sweetener had gone out the window when he had realized the secretive behavior of the kids. He needed to be as alert as possible. Would asking Barbara help? There was a good chance she was in on this. If she hadn’t spilled the beans to him yet, there was also a good chance she was not going to do it upon being asked. He’d have to be clever about this.

“I haven’t seen Jason this morning,” Bruce finally said. “It’s not like him to skip a meal.”

“Oh, he said he was gonna go run a few miles and have breakfast later. He asked me to save some waffles for him.”

To Bruce’s left, Duke flinched. He looked like he had just about swallowed his boiled eggs whole. _A good opportunity._

“Everything okay, Duke?”

“Yes, sir!”

And that answer had definitely come too fast. Something was definitely up. _Jason_ was definitely up to something. Bruce suppressed a beleaguered groan with more coffee. This could only end in tears.

“I’ll go get some more cereal.”

Barbara chuckled as Duke all but jumped out of his seat and headed for the buffet. “Amateur.”

***

“He knows!” Duke whispered as quietly as he could, but he could still feel his pulse getting faster. He was about 95% sure that Bruce had not bugged and tracked each and every single one of them and that he was not carrying any surveillance gear, but you did not want to take 5% chances with the goddamn Batman. “What do we do now?”

“Did father tell you that he knows?” Damian asked just as softly as he surveyed both the available salads and the dining hall. “Did he explicitly say ‘Duke, this is wrong and you should not be doing X’?”

Duke hesitated. What did that matter? This was Batman, for crying out loud! “No.”

“Then he does not know. Do not ruin the game, Thomas.” And just like that, Damian hurried off to the desert table. Duke sighed while shoveling some pasta salad onto his plate.

It felt wrong. Granted, he wasn’t participating in the scheme, the heist, but he knew what was going on and he had not told Bruce. Yet. Did that make him an accessory? An accomplice? A co-conspirator? How much trouble was he going to be in when this was over? How much trouble were all of them going to be in? Was it too late to back out yet?

It probably was.

Damian looked once, then pocketed his first prize. Or maybe the second. Or third. Duke hadn’t really paid attention before. Now that he was, he could see that Damian was playing for keeps. How anyone could fit that much under a shirt was anybody’s guess.

Cassandra looked at Damian, gave a little smile and disappeared into the kitchens so quickly, Duke was once again wondering whether she was really an ordinary human and not a speedster meta. She came back less than two minutes later, looking no different than before, although Duke was certain she had picked the most frilly, puffy dress she owned for a reason this morning. He didn’t even want to imagine how many smuggled goods she was hiding in between its many folds.

And then there was Dick.

Richard Grayson truly was a marvel of audacity; Duke had to give him that. His plate was stacked with waffles and maple syrup packets, and even though Duke had not yet mastered lip-reading, he had a very good idea of what exactly Bruce was saying to him with that skeptical look on his face when he returned to the table.

And Jason? Well, Duke wouldn’t be able to say where Jason had run off to, even if someone were to put a gun in his face right now.

With a deep sigh, Duke finished his breakfast selection and returned to the table. Tim arrived just before him, looking like he hadn’t slept in days, with a giant mug of coffee in his hands.

A giant mug he had just bought the evening before.

Dick raised his eyebrows. “You know, I was wondering why you would drop thirty bucks on a kitschy coffee mug at the hotel souvenir shop...”

Tim shrugged and gestured towards Bruce’s coffee. “Look at those teeny tiny breakfast cups. No way I’m drinking from that. I’d be running to the coffee machine every thirty seconds.”

“Did you consider that exercise might help you wake up, Drake?”

“Did you consider that I don’t want to get up this early, demon brat?”

“It’s 10am.”

“And you’re tiny.”

“Boys!” Bruce reacted quickly. One of his hands immediately went to Damian’s butter knife—good call—and the other to Tim’s coffee. “Calm down. Alright?” Then, he turned to Dick. “What’s up with all the waffles?”

“Saving some for second breakfast,” Dick said, bold as you please, before lathering one of his waffles in syrup and digging in.

“You know it’s rude to hoard food from a communal buffet, right?”

Dick grinned through a mouthful of waffle. “5 stars, Bruce.”

“Grayson is right,” Damian agreed. “If a hotel this fancy cannot afford to lose a few waffles over breakfast, they should be out of business.”

For once, Tim nodded in agreement. Now Duke was truly sure the end times were near. If these two started getting along, something was truly wrong. He set his plate down gently and took a seat.

He had barely picked up his fork when Bruce turned to him. “Raiding the salad bar? I thought you said you were going to get some cereal?”

_Oh shit._

Barbara laughed. “You really need practice, Duke.”

***

Stephanie Brown liked to think of herself as an optimist. Maybe not exactly Goldilocks or Pollyanna, but still—an optimist. A person with a can-do attitude. Cheerful. Hopeful. Kind.

Right now, she hated the entire fucking world.

She hated her stomach, for forcing her to run to the bathroom fourteen times in one night. She hated the stupid mussels or oysters or whatever that seafood had been that had caused this. She hated the sunlight filtering in through the blinds that wouldn’t let her sleep. She hated the stupid bananas and the stupid crackers.

Right now, Steph hated everything.

She rolled over once more and reached for her phone. 12.58pm. Two minutes left to go. She hoped the others kept their promises. It was all that was keeping her sane right now, the only thing that she was looking forward to. Screw the doctor and his banana-crackers diet. She was on vacation. She was going to enjoy this.

12.59pm. She wondered if Bruce had found out. He wouldn’t approve. If there was a god in the universe, he wouldn’t find out until it was too late.

1pm. The door opened. For the first time in fourteen hours, Steph felt joy spreading through her body.

“Wow, you look terrible,” Tim blurted out as he shuffled into her room, still very much a sleep-deprived zombie. Steph reached for the crackers and chucked them straight at him. Unfortunately, he ducked.

“Drake is not wrong, though,” Damian grudgingly admitted and if she had had something to throw at him too, she would have.

“Fuck you all.”

“Kids!” And that would be Bruce. Further proof of a godless universe. Stephanie crossed her arms in front of her chest in defiance and gave him the angriest glare she could muster. Given that she was hunched up in her bed sheets, looking all ragged from a night without sleep and pale as a corpse, it wasn’t much.

“How are you feeling, Steph?” Barbara came in next, rolling up to Stephanie’s bed with her usual grace and speed. Dick trailed after her, a plate held firmly in his hands, and Stephanie’s eyes lit up as he kicked the door shut.

“WAFFLES!”

They had really done it. Magnificent bastards that this crazy family was made of—they had really done it.

“A grand eight of them! You’re welcome.” Dick put on that charming sunshine smile and Steph had to admit it made her feel a little better. Not as good as the waffles, but still...

“I thought you said you were saving those for later?”

“I was.” Dick grinned at Bruce. “Now is later.”

“You heard the doctor last night.” Somehow, even when he was wearing khakis and a polo shirt, Bruce still managed to be terrifyingly fast. The struggle between Dick and Bruce lasted mere seconds, before Bruce wrestled the plate away from him. “Bananas and crackers only.”

“I think you’re banana-crackers,” Steph lobbed at him with a pout.

“Tt!” At the foot of her bed, Damian stood, looking every inch like an angry tomcat fresh out of TNR. “I don’t think you deserve these, for insulting father, but I might as well hand them over. I win.”

With all eyes on him now, Damian reached underneath his shirt and pulled out a waffle carefully swaddled in napkins. Then a second. And a third. And a fourth. Somewhere after number five, Stephanie lost count as uncontrollable laughter bubbled up in her at the sight of Bruce’s increasingly shocked look.

“Damian, did you _steal_ those from the buffet?”

“They are meant for consumption by the hotel’s patrons,” Damian shrugged as he handed over the waffles. Stephanie counted nine. “Brown is, for better or worse, a patron. I am merely delivering them.”

“Aw...” Steph grinned. “That’s gotta be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Don’t get used to it. Either way, I win.”

“I brought waffles too!” From behind Bruce, Cass tiptoed her way over to Stephanie’s bed. When and how she had gotten into the room, Stephanie could not tell, but she had long since given up on trying to track Cassandra. She was too fast, too light-footed, too sneaky. Stephanie watched with glee as she dug ten napkin-wrapped waffles and six little single-portion chocolate spread boxes out of her dress. “He has nine. I have ten. I win.”

“And you brought chocolate!” Steph couldn’t remember the last time she had hugged anyone so tightly, but she couldn’t help throwing her arms around Cass. “You are the best!”

Bruce, ever the spoil sport, sighed in frustration. “It’s still wrong to steal from a hotel breakfast buffet.”

“Not the buffet,” Cass corrected and the grin on her face was enough to nearly give Stephanie caries. “The kitchen.”

Bruce paled. Stephanie laughed.

The door opened with a quiet beep and a loud bang.

“Did I miss the party?”

“Jason?” Stephanie blinked in confusion. Since when was Jason a redhead? Why did his cheekbones and lips look so differently? Was she hallucinating? Also, it was just plain weird seeing him all in white and with a hat and for a moment she had trouble believing that that was really him. Then it clicked.

Long white clothes with an apron and a hat. A kitchen uniform.

“Sorry I’m a little late.” Jason took off the hat and its attached latex mask and wig and stuffed them down one of his pockets, then sat the box he had been holding under his left arm down by her knees and started emptying it on her bed. “So I brought you some waffles...” Jason said non-chalantly, as he unloaded four stacks of five waffles each on her sheet, neatly wrapped in cellophane. Even under the covers, Steph could feel they were still warm. “... and some chocolate spread... marmalade... and maple syrup...” Stephanie counted a dozen packages of spread. “You like?”

“I LOVE!”

Next to her, Cass eyed Jason in what could best be described as a mixture of sulking and suspicion. “How?”

“I nicked a uniform and badge and pretended to be a new hire.” Jason ripped open one of the waffle packages, produced a knife from god knew where—Steph did not want to know—and proceeded to prepare a chocolate waffle for her. “Every time I didn’t have anything to do, I made some spare waffles. Enjoy.”

Stephanie took the offered portion with a grateful nod and took a bite.

If there was a heaven, it was filled with these waffles.

“Thank you, Jesus!” Fuck the bananas. Stephanie grinned as she started chowing down for real. It was probably best to eat them quickly, before Bruce got any crazy ideas like—the horror!—robbing her of her waffle offerings.

“I normally go by Jason, but thanks anyway.”

“Jason...” Or perhaps Bruce was going to tear Jason a new one first. Steph did feel sorry for him, but the waffles came first. His sacrifice would be remembered. “You do know that you just admitted to theft _and_ identity theft? Possibly also to fraud and time card fraud?”

“So?” Jason laughed. “What are you going to do? Call the police on me?”

He wasn’t. Even Stephanie, who was by far the least connected to Bruce Wayne, knew that he couldn’t. Calling the police would attract the attention of the media and then someone would have to explain how dearly departed Jason Todd was still alive and kicking and capable of impersonating hotel staff... for a box of waffles. _Yeah. Not gonna happen._

Instead, Bruce turned his attention to Duke instead, who instantly seemed to shrink an inch under his stern glare. “So. What did _you_ do, Duke?”

“Nothing!” Duke waved his hands defensively. “I told them I wasn’t gonna pull no waffle heists. Sorry, Steph,” Duke nodded towards her with a rueful shrug, “but I just couldn’t.”

“Tim?” If looks could wound, Bruce was crushing Tim’s bones.

“I looked up local bakeries and ordered a delivery of thirty waffles. They should be here...” Tim checked his phone. “In about half an hour!”

“That doesn’t count!” Stephanie jabbed her finger into his ribs and was pleased to see him pull away with a slight yelp. “We explicitly said ‘breakfast waffles from this hotel’! These are the best waffles in the history of wafflery and if you think you can cheap out on me with some third-rate delivery job, you’re messing with the wrong girl!”

Bruce sighed. The others smiled. Then, all heads turned to Barbara. Bruce rubbed his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, Barbara. Spit it out. What did you do?”

“Nothing yet,” Barbara smirked and for a moment Stephanie understood why so many people were legitimately terrified of Oracle. Then she rolled over to the lavishly carved mahogany desk on the far side of the room, picked up the phone and dialed a code. Stephanie couldn’t make out the words from the other end of the line from the distance. Then again, she didn’t have to.

 “Hello, this is Barbara Gordon from room 409. My friends and I are in the mood for a late brunch. Would it be possibly to send up 50 of those delicious breakfast waffles to room 411?” A pause. A smile. “No, of course not. Our reservations were made in the name of Bruce Wayne. Yes, he’s one of the lucky friends.” Another pause. The smile grew. “$540 dollars? Oh of course he doesn’t mind. Just add it to his tab. Thank you.”

Barbara waited for the conversation to end, then hung up and turned towards Stephanie again. “So, what do you think?”

Stephanie laughed. Next to her bed, Bruce seemed to have aged twenty years right onto the cusp of a mental breakdown.

“I think Bruce is starting to regret adopting.”


End file.
